Scarred Iowa Returns To Home Port

Families Greet Crew That Lost 47

NORFOLK — Missing sailors who died in Wednesday's turret explosion and fire, the battleship USS Iowa sailed home Sunday to a somber gathering of about 1,500 family and friends.

The crowd stood, almost silent behind a fence as five tugboats helped push the dreadnought into place at Norfolk Naval Station's Pier 5 at about 5:40 p.m. On nearby ships, Navy Jacks and U.S. flags flew at half-mast in the cool breeze.

Iowa sailors manned the rails in their dress white uniforms, wearing black bands around their right arms. Five sailors stood atop the crippled No 2 turret, in which their fellow crewmembers were killed when gunpowder exploded in the center 16-inch gun.

The turret was fused in place, its guns hanging over the starboard side of the ship. Signs of a fire were visible, the top of the 60-foot gunbarrels blackened by smoke.

The bottoms of the barrels on the first and third guns showed rust on the gleaming steel at their base. The black rubber bloomers, blown away by the blast, had been replaced by Navy gray plastic covers to keep out rain and seawater.

Navy officials could not say how many sailors families came to meet the ship. But one lieutenant, who had spoken with a number of parents over the past four days, said many wanted just to see if their sons really were alive. "A few said they wouldn't believe it until they saw him with their own eyes," he said.

Marie and Larry Edwards drove 660 miles from Albany, Ga., to greet their son, Carlton, a 21-year-old machinist mate.

"I know it's selfish, but I'm just so glad he's OK," said Mrs. Edwards. "But I feel so bad for those other people."

Carlton Edwards hadn't known his parents were meeting him.

"He was in the bottom of the boat because he didn't think anybody was going to be here," his mother said.

Machinist mate Gregory McIntyre of Lauringberg, N.C., was also surprised to see his parents.

"I just got off the ship to call home, and I said, `Hey, that look's like my dad's van,'" Gregory McIntyre said.

Making the five-hour trip in the van were eight family members and friends.

Few sailors wanted to talk about the tragedy aboard the ship.

"I'm just glad to be on the ground," said one, who wouldn't give his name. A buddy was even more adament. "I don't ever want to get back on that ship again."

Said another: "If it goes out again, it may be going without me."

The Iowa pulled into the pier with a Marine sergeant holding a red guidon and standing at attention between the center and starboard gun on the No. 2 turret. His face was somber, his gaze distant. Later, after family and friends congregated aboard the ship, someone placed a cross with red and white flowers and a red, white and blue ribbon in the same spot.

As the first mooring lines were tossed from the ship, a sudden cheer flared from the crowd. Then, almost as suddenly as the noise began, the crowd grew quiet. Only the sounds of the seagulls flying overhead and the generators from the nearly two-dozen television trucks could be heard.

The somber expressions of the sailors didn't change even when they broke from attention to go about the business of securing the 887-foot battleship. Sailors in dungarees, also wearing black armbands, appeared on the main deck. Some smoked cigarettes and talked quietly with one another; some stood silently. None were smiling.

As the gates were opened and the first family members of the crew were allowed aboard, a detail of three Marines transferred the American flag from its underway position, flying from the Iowa's tallest mast, to the ship's stern. The three unfurled the flag, quickly ran it to the top of the pole, and back to half-mast. They then saluted sharply, turned and left.

As sailors and their families milled about talking quietly on the pier, other Iowa crew members queued up at banks of phones near the pier gate.

President Bush will speak at a memorial service honoring the dead sailors beginning at 9 this morning at the Naval Air Station.